


After One Year

by I_am_lampy



Series: After All These Years [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock, I'm in love with my readers, M/M, Marriage Proposal, OKAY ENOUGH TAGS, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sherlock Loves Bossy John, because in his heart he's a slut, bossy John, but only for john, some fluff but mostly smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: John takes charge and the boys make a big(gish) decision.





	

They were back in the heat and the humidity, the concrete and brick soaking up the sun so that it was like a warming oven long after the sun had gone down.

Out of the cab, up the steps, through the door, around the corner, up more stairs, another turn, up more stairs, into the flat.

John went in first so that when Sherlock came after, carrying the bag with all the goodies, his face red not just from the heat but from John's purposefully fierce stares, John was able to use Sherlock's own momentum to grab his arm, turn him around, and push him against the flat door, face first, gently of course. He knew exactly how much force to use so that he got a nice _oomph_ out of Sherlock but not so much that it actually hurt. It was a surprise, a show of strength, a promise. Sherlock dropped the bag and it landed with a thud.

Sherlock was relatively undressed – shirtsleeves rolled up, no jacket. John pressed his body against Sherlock's, pressing him into the door and then brought his arms around to the top of Sherlock's shirt, the first button slipping out of its buttonhole with steady fingers, the fingers of a warrior, the fingers of a surgeon.

The second button; the third button; the fourth. John worked his way down, surprised how quickly he was getting an erection. All the buttons done, John tugged the shirt out of Sherlock's trousers from the front and then all the way around to the back and then slid his hands up to Sherlock's shoulders, to his neck and caressed Sherlock's neck with two fingers on either side before grasping the collar of his shirt and pulling it down his arms and off.

He let his palms skip back up Sherlock's arms and then around his back and he stroked Sherlock's skin like he had in the hotel room. Both palms gliding up his back, around the shoulders, down the sides, to his waist and then back up again and then he reversed the path of his hands.

Sherlock was relaxing into the touch, beginning to sing without knowing it, a low hum in his throat, like he was purring, the sound disappearing when he breathed in and then coming back when he breathed out. John reached around to the front of his body, doing the same thing up over his chest and then down around his waist and then from the back up over his shoulders to his chest, over and over, around and around, his hands telling Sherlock's nerves _sing for me_. When Sherlock was so relaxed that his body moved with John's, John reached around and unbuttoned his trousers.

"Oh," Sherlock said but it sounded like _oh, yes, please, more_.

John pulled his zipper down and hooked his hands inside Sherlock's trousers (no pants because they were in the bag, neither of them bothering to put them back on at the hotel), and pushed them down. He didn't bend down to take Sherlock's trousers off. He left them pooled around his ankles and then he crouched down behind Sherlock and let his hands _warrior's hands, surgeon's hands, steady hands_ stroke Sherlock's legs, starting with his ankles, up his shins to his thighs then back around, over his butt cheeks and then down the back of his thighs to his calves. Sherlock tried to spread his legs and stumbled. John bit back a laugh as he steadied him.

Sherlock was still purring, that sound deep in his throat. John wondered if this was like touch therapy for Sherlock, in the way that some people with autism and dogs with major anxiety benefited from being tightly held. His body was limp, going in the direction John moved his hands. Suddenly Sherlock leaned his forehead against the door and took a deep breath and sighed. It was a pleased sigh, a happy sigh, a relaxed sigh.

John settled his hands on Sherlock's shoes and untied them and Sherlock obediently lifted his foot. Each shoe off, one, then two. Each sock off, one, then two. Then he lifted his legs out of his trousers while John held them down.

John stayed crouched down and put his hands on the insides of Sherlock's ankles and as he brought his hands up, he pressed against Sherlock's legs making Sherlock widen his stance in response, steadying him when he stumbled before going up further and further until he was all the way up, his hands pressed flat against the insides of Sherlock's thighs.

John pulled the lube out of the bag and poured a sizeable amount onto his hand and then rubbed it all over his hands, like lotion, making sure they were plenty slippery. Then he slid one hand between Sherlock's arse cheeks, just using the edge of his palm to rub up and down, stimulating but not penetrating. The other hand went around to the front and grasped Sherlock's cock. Sherlock leaned back then forward; he couldn't seem to decide which way to go. John pressed his mouth against Sherlock's arse cheek and kissed it and then bit it, grinning to himself.

Except for Sherlock's humming ( _how can he not realize he's doing it?_ John thought) and the fan going _shhhooosssh_ , it was quiet. The noise from the street outside felt very far away. John berated himself for letting a whole year go by before doing this. Sherlock was so relaxed; John peeked around Sherlock's legs and even with John's hand gently and lightly stroking Sherlock's cock and his other hand sliding in between his cheeks and then out and over and then back in between, Sherlock's eyes were closed and his face relaxed. He look blissed out. It was like giving Sherlock Xanax with his hands. He could've used this years ago.

"Sherlock," John said quietly, standing up.

"Mm?" Sherlock said, his head pressed against the door, his hips still not sure which way to push.

"Turn around."

Sherlock turned around and John slid his hands up Sherlock's chest until he got to his nipples. He pinched one and Sherlock's humming hitched loudly, his mouth opening up in a silent gasp. His eyes focused on John, or tried to and John himself gasped. Sherlock's pupils were huge; he was squinting against the light coming in from the window.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"What?"

"Do you remember telling me that the night we said we loved each other, you wanted to push me onto the sitting room floor and fuck me?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, drawing out the _S_ sound. "Although, I actually said I wanted to _throw you down_ onto the sitting room floor and fuck you."

"Oh, yeah. That's right. It was _throw you down_. I'll give you a choice. You can get down on your knees or I can throw you down."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he started to grin and John pushed him up against the door and kissed him, the thought of throwing Sherlock on the floor causing his brain to immediately shunt the vast majority of his blood to his cock. Sherlock seemed to be having the same reaction. The stimulation he had been giving Sherlock had kept him only partially hard. John hadn't wanted to push this one thing, knowing that when it came down to it, making Sherlock come wasn't the goal. Sherlock _would_ come because for all his difficulties in the beginning of their relationship, he was highly responsive to even small touches. John considered now if that hadn't also been part of the reason Sherlock was so aggressively focused on John sometimes – a way of keeping a physical barrier up because he _was_ so responsive. Maybe it got to be too much for him to handle, sometimes.

John was an expert in handling him, though, and had been all along. He should've trusted that he knew what was good for Sherlock. He shouldn't have let guilt rule so much. _From here on out_ , John thought.

John kissed him while stripping off his own clothes, always finding Sherlock's lips again. Sherlock was half a foot taller than him and had to bend down to kiss him and every time John had to move his head – to kick off his shoes or pull of his socks – Sherlock's lips would follow him and he reminded John of Rosie as an infant, her mouth seeking out Mary's breast instinctively. John's chest ached tightly at the memory – Mary, liar and assassin and spy and wife and mother – her blonde hair so bright against the grey of their couch with Rosie's lips shaped like a perfect _O_ against Mary's breast.

Mary had wanted to save Sherlock and she had. _Thank you_ , he thought as he pulled Sherlock down on the floor with him, _thank you_ , he thought as he moved between Sherlock's legs, _thank you_ , he thought as Sherlock hooked a knee on John's shoulder.

"You are so beautiful," John said, kissing the knee. "And very flexible."

"I could get on my hands and knees if you want," Sherlock said, cocking an eyebrow in that cheeky way he had that used to drive John mad. Okay, _still_ drove John mad.

"Oh, no. I want to watch you," John said, making sure they were both sufficiently lubricated. "Are you ready?"

In answer, Sherlock hooked his other leg around the back of John's thighs, pulling him forward. The only preparation Sherlock had had was over an hour ago, at the hotel, so John slid the head of his cock inside Sherlock very slowly and deliberately –  and _my God_ it felt just as good as he had known it would be – and then stopped when Sherlock grimaced in discomfort.

"Take a deep breath," John said. "And then let it out all at once."

As Sherlock breathed out, John slipped the rest of the head of his cock past the tightest ring of muscle and stopped.

"Again," John said.

Sherlock took a deep breath and then blew it out all at once and John was all the way in, both of them breathing hard.

"I shouldn't have gone straight to this. I should've – "

"No, it's good," Sherlock murmured, his eyes shut, his body relaxing around John.

"I'm going to start moving now. I'll go slowly at first. Tell me if it hurts."

Sherlock opened his eyes; his pupils looked a more normal size, which was good. John certainly didn't want to fuck him for the first time when he was stoned. Sherlock nodded his head.

John pushed against Sherlock first, seating himself more deeply, and was rewarded with Sherlock's mouth opening in a gasp while his eyes slid shut. His thigh squeezed John's shoulder and John grinned. He pulled out slowly and then dipped back in, just as slowly. Sherlock tightened up, grimacing, but then relaxed. And then again and then again, until the last traces of discomfort disappeared from Sherlock's face.

He rocked against John, his thigh and calf where it was hooked over John's shoulder guiding John in.

"This is – " Sherlock said. "Remind me again why we waited so long to do this?"

John laughed. Sherlock's whole body was flushed pink, the heat and the humidity fading into their skin as they broke out in a sweat and John had to slow down because he was so close to coming but Sherlock ground himself against John who closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Sherlock, I'm gonna – "

"Me, too," Sherlock said and wrapped a hand around himself and stroked twice before he came and John almost stopped completely, so intent was his gaze on Sherlock who had tilted his head back, a groan working its way slowly out of his throat, his body clenching around John's cock, and then he said _oh john_ and John came while Sherlock watched him with that sudden predatory intent he sometimes got when he looked at John like he was starving and John was food.

"Fucking gorgeous, you are," Sherlock said, breathing hard but not as hard as John.

"Yeah?" John asked, panting.

"You were right," Sherlock.

"About?"

"Everything," Sherlock said.

"What?" John asked, puzzled.

"Well, you always say that I won't admit when you're right. I'm feeling generous."

"So all I have to do to get you to admit I'm right is fuck you?"

"Yes. But you're wrong," Sherlock said, cocking an eyebrow.

"You cheeky bastard," John said, rolling his eyes. He kissed Sherlock's knee and then unhooked it from his shoulder. "Give it an hour or two, madman."

They got up, cleaned themselves off, and changed into pajamas. John made tea. Sherlock got the paper and John watched him as he sat in his chair. He winced slightly and then grinned, to himself, not noticing John could see him.

"Here," John said, handing him his cup of tea. Sherlock as usual, didn't say thank you, but took the tea.

John crossed his legs and watched Sherlock reading the newspaper.

"By the way, John," Sherlock said, without looking up from the newspaper. "Happy anniversary."

"I'm sorry, what?" John asked.

Sherlock looked up. "It's been a year, hasn't it?"

"No, I – " John said, feeling abashed that Sherlock should remember something like that when he wasn't even sure Sherlock knew when John's birthday was.

"I thought that's why you planned the whole kidnapping – no?" Sherlock asked, looking equally confused.

"No," John said shaking his head.

They looked at each other for a minute, both of their foreheads creased in confusion and then they both grinned and then Sherlock giggled in that way he had, tucking his chin in so he looked like he had four tiny chins.

"Marry me," John said, the words escaping before he could stop them.

Sherlock had looked back down at the paper and there was a grin on his face but he didn't look up.

"Okay," he said casually, turning the page.

"That's it? Okay?"

"That's it," Sherlock said. Then he looked up. "You were expecting me to say no?"

"Yes, I was, actually."

"I've been thinking we should. For Rosie, that is. So in case something happened. To you. Or me, for that matter."

"Oh, so this is for Rosie?"

"Well, and you look really hot in a tux."

"You are – I swear," John said tsking.

"Yes. I am. And you do. Often and loudly."

John laughed.

"Oh, and John?"

"Hm?"

"You really do look _gorgeous_ in a tux."

**Author's Note:**

> I always welcome emails from readers about anything that tickles your fancy, even if it's just randomness!
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com  
> Teddy


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